


Born again

by Callistemon



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Loyalties, Post-Episode: s01e08 The Defenders, Post-Season/Series 01, Resurrection, Temporary Amnesia, The Hand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2018-12-18 16:22:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11878284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callistemon/pseuds/Callistemon
Summary: The resurrection of Matt Murdock.





	1. A deal made

Elektra wiggled her hands and feet experimentally, causing a couple of small rocks to dislodge and fall to the ground with a light clatter. Matt's arms were wrapped around her, and she brushed Matt's gloved hand away from her face, replacing the smell of sweat and damp leather with the overwhelming dampness of the tunnel under New York. She wriggled out from beneath Matt's limp body and flipped him over, putting an ear to his mouth. Nothing. Panicking, she pulled off her own glove and held her shaking fingers to his throat. Nothing.

“No,” Elektra whispered, “no. You can't. You can't be.”

She squinted into the blackness to no avail. How ironic. The only person she trusted to confidently navigate this level of darkness had just sacrificed his life for her.

The loss that Elektra felt when she'd started to glean details from her past life was nothing compared to now. She remembered the rage she'd felt when she learned of the circumstances of her death. She died in his arms... he _let_ her die in his arms. But now, there was a glimpse of understanding. There was an aching in her heart that couldn't be compared to the bruises to her ribs during training, nor the cuts from the blades across her chest during that fight in Moscow. The pain was disconcerting. Maybe it was better not to care.

Elektra pushed aside a boulder that was leaning against Matt's head and it rolled away with a _clunk_. The sound echoed throughout the chamber, suggesting the tunnel hadn’t completely filled or collapsed. Slowly getting to her feet, she walked a few feet towards the hole, arms outstretched. There was a lot of rubble and a few small boulders, but there didn’t seem to be anything major immediately blocking her path back to the hole. Elektra turned back to Matt only to find his body missing. Heart rate quickening, she crawled around, hands outstretched, whispering his name until her hand bumped against his leg. He hadn’t moved. It was just too easy to lose orientation.

With a grunt, Elektra lifted Matt’s limp body over her shoulder and felt for the wall. Tracing the wall with her hand, she wobbled a little as she started to walk in the direction of the hole. She was strong – stronger than she’d ever been, and deep down, she knew the wobble had nothing to do with Matt’s physical weight. Elektra had advanced only a short distance when there was a sound of falling stone to her right. She stopped, barely daring to breathe. What she’d give for even a small share of Matt’s senses right now. She started off again, faster than before, aiming for the reinforced escape pipe that was protected from potential land movements. It was just a matter of finding the entrance.

Elektra ducked and weaved around boulders, trying not to lose direction all the while. Eventually, her shoe scuffed the concrete slab at the bottom of the hole. The center was filled with chunks of concrete, bent metal and glass, but the left edge was clear. She skirted the hole until she came to the reinforced pipe and kicked a boulder out of the way, peering up into the blackness. She clicked her tongue and sighed with relief at the echo. Clear then - at least for some of the way. She pulled Matt’s arms around her neck, but the emergency tube was narrow and his back caught on the edge. Elektra threw him to the ground. She still had no idea why retrieving his body was so important. She didn’t even know him. Not really. She was the Black Sky – a weapon, an emotionless vessel.

Feeling around, Elektra came upon the wheelbarrow holding the last of the precious substance. She stuffed a couple of bone fragments into her clothing, dumped the rest in a pile behind a large rock for safekeeping, and returned to Matt. Unwrapping her armbands, she tied him to her back like an oversized child and started the long climb. One hour, two hours, three hours and they were still climbing. Her hands ached with their combined weight, the metal rungs causing painful blisters. There was no light at the top, so she had to trust that it was an opaque door at the surface, rather than a blockage.

It was Matt’s horns that signaled the top, cracking on the top of a metal hatch. Elektra pushed and then banged on the door, but there was no moving it. There was a slight hollowness on one side, but it barely vibrated. She pushed again, straining with all she had, but it still didn’t budge. Reaching back, she pulled Matt’s billy clubs from his leg holster, using the club as a leaver while she pressed up with her shoulders. Movement, finally. A crunch from above. Pushing again, the mass above her creaked as it moved a little more. Inch by inch, she levered the hatch door open until there was enough room to slither out sideways. Matt’s head banged unceremoniously against the metal and despite herself, Elektra instinctively cringed.

 

* * *

 

Elektra stretched as she awoke, momentarily panicking as her elbow came in contact with Matt’s thigh. Her eyes drifted up to his face, which was pale verging on grey, and she turned away. She was only a few meters away from the hatch door, having collapsed from exhaustion almost immediately after surfacing. The tiny metal disk in the floor seemed so disproportionate to the epic climb.

Hearing movement to her left, Elektra untied Matt and skirted through a tunnel in the rubble, searching for the source. No one could get to Matt before she’d worked out how to bring him back. Before the sound source could be identified, however, there was a grinding sound from behind. Dashing back to Matt and the hole, she saw Madam Gao slowly shifting Matt’s body towards the hatch. Energy renewed, Elektra ran at Gao and kicked her hard in the chest before the old woman had the chance to summon her chi.

Madam Gao was thrown into a pile of twisted metal and concrete. She paused for a moment then smiled sweetly. “Alexandra was wrong about you… but I already knew that.”

“She thought she owned me,” Elektra snapped. “No one owns me.”

Gao smiled again. “And what do you think you’re going to do with him - The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen?”

“You’re going to help me bring him back,” Elektra said, returning a smile that went no further than her lips.

Madam Gao slowly got to her feet and said calmly, “bring back someone who wants to kill me and take down the Hand? I don’t think so.”

“Do it. Or else.”

“Or else what?”

“Or else I’ll get nasty,” Elektra said with a snarl.

Gao chuckled. “You think you’re the first to threaten me like this?”

“No, but in case you hadn’t noticed, there’s one of me, and one of you, and we’re not exactly an even match.” Elektra took a step forward, and Madam Gao shot out and forced Elektra across the room. She hit a piece of metal, the crash reverberating throughout the space.

There was a shout from afar, “I hear something. This way.”

“Idiot,” Elektra whispered. Madam Gao got to her feet and whipped right through a gap in the concrete. Hauling Matt over her shoulder, Elektra followed, winding her way after the one known survivor who knew the resurrection process. Their tunnel opened up into a larger cavern and Elektra stopped short. The casket. It was still here.

With her back to Elektra, Madam Gao walked slowly towards the casket, her footsteps reverberating around the concrete space. “You know, the process hasn’t changed in thousands of years,” she said slowly, teasingly. “Only the five of us knew the entire process. We protected it, knowing full well what would happen if we shared the secret. That’s how our resources lasted so long – until you came along, that is.”

“Well, I got you more, didn’t I?”

“It’s buried under a skyscraper of rubble, along with the majority of the Hand.” Madam Gao paused. “Even if it were possible to excavate without being noticed, it’d require the manpower and the resources that we just don’t have at the moment.”

“Quite a bind,” Elektra said with a smirk. “And if I told you I salvaged some?”

Madam Gao turned around to face Elektra. “I would tell you that the negotiations have begun.”

Elektra remained stone faced. This was too easy. She dropped Matt to the ground and said, “okay.”

“You want him, and I want the substance,” Gao summarized. “You will also abandon any intention to take over the Hand.”

Elektra crossed her arms. “Too late. I already lead the Hand.”

Gao chuckled. “Do you? Who do you lead? What do you lead?”

“They all know of Black Sky,” Elektra replied. “They’ve been taught to follow Black Sky from the start of their training, and they will. The five leaders of the Hand may have been in New York, but there are still warriors distributed throughout the world. They need new leaders, and you’re just a lone finger in an amputated organization.”

Gao raised her eyebrows and took a single step towards Elektra. “Maybe you’d be happier as the _visible_ leader. After all, you know little about the organization and its capacities. You will need help.”

“Visible leader,” Elektra repeated with a huff. “I am no puppet. I think Alexandra learned that, don’t you?”

“I think that you do not understand the Hand. You are young, foolish, unpredictable, ill-disciplined-”

“Okay,” Elektra said.

“Okay what?”

“We will _co_ -lead.”

“And he will join us,” Gao said, gesturing to Matt.

In a low voice, Elektra said, “of course.”

Madam Gao looked at her through narrowed eyes. “And what will your precious Devil have to say about that when he wakes up and discovers this deal?”

“That’s not your concern,” Elektra dismissed. “I will make sure he doesn’t remember.”

Gao raised her eyebrows, but didn’t comment. She limped over to the casket and pushed the top aside, before gesturing Elektra over. Elektra went to pick up Matt’s body, but Gao gestured to stop. “We need to move this first. It would not be wise to leave it in the open.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Tonight. We move it. There’s a compound not far from here.” She smiled. “With the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen gone, it will be safe from prying.”

 

* * *

 

When the time came, Madam Gao stood at a good distance, her head down in reverence. Elektra held her breath as she slid the top of the casket aside. It was odd to think that she’d been through this entire process only a short time earlier. She had vague memories of the confusion, the disorientation, the sense of not knowing, and she was prepared for that and more from Matt.

There was a gasp from inside and Matt sat up straight, gripping the edges of the casket. Elektra moved back quickly as Matt instinctively tilted his head, listening to her movement. The spell might have returned Matt’s life, but he was still blind. He flipped out of the vessel, spraying burgundy liquid across the floor. He stumbled as he landed and his feet slid out from underneath him. Letting out a roar, he got into a crouch and paused, listening to his surrounds. Elektra took a step forward and he launched at her. She kicked him away with force and he crashed into a pillar. Matt gave a small whine and cowered behind the pillar.

“This is your brave Devil,” Madam Gao said with a leering smile. “I hope you’re not regretting your decision.”

“You wish,” Elektra snapped. “He just needs time.”

“You know the deal,” Gao reminded her.

Elektra pursed her lips. “I do.”

She took a couple of steps towards Matt and said, “I won’t hurt you.” She clicked her fingers a few times and Matt twitched, listening to the sound waves bounce off the objects around him. He gripped the pillar, but quickly drew away with a gasp when he received a splinter from the roughly hewn wood.

“Can I see?” Elektra said. “I can help.” She walked a little closer and put out her hand, gently touching the back of his fingers in warning. He twitched but didn’t move away. She took his hand and pried out the loose splinter. “There,” she said. “All gone.”

“All gone,” Matt croaked, and Elektra huffed in amusement.

“Can I-” Elektra moved a little closer and gently wrapped her hands around Matt, just like Alexandra had done to her. Matt threw a punch, cracking Elektra in the jaw before skittering off into the corner.

Madam Gao laughed derisively. “I’ll leave you to it. Have fun.” She bolted the door behind them.

Elektra felt her jaw. She had little patience for this. She needed Matt back in fighting form, preferably with no memory of his life beyond her. Having Matt attack her was not part of the plan.

She padded towards Matt, grabbing a blanket along the way. He was still cowering in the corner, but he had his fists up and ready. Elektra had no doubt that he’d attack again if she got too close. “Here,” she said, throwing him the blanket. “Wipe yourself off.”

Matt frowned and reached for the blanket. It was the softest Elektra could find, but he still screwed up his face and shuddered as he wiped the liquid from his skin.

It was food that finally convinced Matt to come out of his corner. A couple of Elektra’s new assistants brought clothes and a meal for Matt, and while he threw away the clothes with an angry huff, he scarfed down the food with both hands without taking a breath. Elektra stared at him with disgust. For the first time since she dragged him out of that hole, she had a tinge of regret. This wasn’t the Matt she wanted. The Matt she wanted was charming and flirtatious, not this naked man-child on the floor in front of her.

The sun was setting by the time Matt relaxed enough to sit down. Elektra started talking to him, telling him about their relationship and the Hand – the organization he served. As she talked, Matt started to creep closer, inch by inch until he was standing only feet away from Elektra. “W-w-” Matt started.

“You’re Matthew. I’m Elektra.”

“Matthew, Elektra,” Matt parroted.

“You serve the Hand.”

“You serve the Hand,” Matt repeated.

“No, you say I serve the Hand.”

Matt gave a small whine of confusion, and Elektra rolled her eyes. “What do you know already?” Matt tilted his head, and Elektra muttered, “and can you stop doing that already.”

“Stop doing that,” Matt said with a nod.

“So you do know what that means?”

“Mmm, yes.”

“What else do you know?”

“Matthew, Elektra. You serve the Hand.”

“And so do you. Your name is Matthew and you serve the Hand. You say it this way though: my name is Matthew and I serve the Hand. Got it?”

Matt tipped his head back and groaned. He scratched lazily at his chest and gave a small stomp of his feet.

“And now you’re acting like a caveman,” Elektra said to herself. She put out her hand. “Come, you need to sleep.”

“Sleep,” Matt repeated. He hesitated then grasped her hand, feeling the callouses on her fingers and palms with his thumb.

Elektra led Matt into a small windowless unit that had a bed and a bathroom. She patted the bed. “Sleep here.” She took his hand and pulled him towards the bathroom. “Ergh, I’m not teaching you how to-” She petered off as Matt pissed into the toilet in front of her. Evidently, he retained enough basic memory to remember the function of a toilet, but not enough to recall social norms.

With a look of disgust, Elektra said, “do you know that everyone else isn’t blind?”

Matt just grunted.

“Right,” Elektra said, rolling her eyes. “I give up. Just go to sleep.” She pushed him towards the bed.

Matt may have rejected the clothes, but the silk sheets she’d bought him appeared to meet his standards. He pulled the sheets over his head and curled up in a fetal position, one arm over his exposed ear.

Elektra couldn’t figure out what was going on. She knew she’d have to jog his memory a little, teach him a few words, but the Matthew Murdock in front of her, the Matthew that shunned clothes and was now curled up in a silk cocoon, was just pathetic. She backed out of the room and locked the door behind her. It was tomorrow’s problem.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Elektra unlocked the door to a wild and furious Matt. He had scratches on his chest and jaw from trying to escape. The walls and door had dents and holes, but the soundproofing Elektra had installed during its construction had unintentionally served the dual purpose of keeping Matt in. She caught him as he tried to barrel out through the door, and kicked him back against the bed. He whimpered a little before flipping forward and kicking her in the groin. Clearly his muscle memory and martial arts training hadn’t been lost during the resurrection process.

Matt made another dash for the door, but Elektra jumped on him and pinned him to the floor. He tried to flip backwards to escape her grip, but being familiar with Matt’s fighting style, she was prepared and simply dug her knee deeper into his lower back. “Now listen here, you shit of a man. I’m trying to help you,” Elektra hissed. “Stop fighting.”

Matt stilled. “Elektra,” he breathed.

“Yes?”

“I’m hungry.”

Elektra rolled her eyes. “I’ll get you food on two conditions: one, you put on some clothes; and two, you stop trying to fight me. Do you agree?”

“Yes,” Matt muttered into the carpet.

“Are you going to try and run away?”

“If you l-lock me up… then yes,” Matt replied. His words were slow and clumsy, but she could glimpse a little of the former Matthew Murdock, the gifted yet stubborn lawyer who could verbally destroy a witness on the stand. She smiled and let him go.

 

Half an hour later, Matt was sitting at a table wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. He drummed his fingers on the table as he waited to eat.

“Tell me again who you are,” Elektra said.

“I want food,” he replied.

“It’s not ready yet,” she said through clenched teeth.

“My name is Matthew and I serve the Hand,” he said in a bored tone.

Elektra clicked her fingers at a waiting guard and said, “can you get him some bread or something.”

The reward of food arrived and Matt demolished the bread roll in under ten seconds. “That’s disgusting,” Elektra said.

Matt tipped his head, confused.

“You need to take your time. Eat slowly. There’s a knife and fork beside the plates.” She added, half to herself, “if you can remember how to use a toilet, I’m sure you can remember how to use a knife and fork.”

 

Following the meal, Elektra wasted no time in testing Matt’s martial art skills. After an hour in the dojo, it was clear that Matt was as good as he’d always been. Better even. She brought in increasingly large groups of the Hand’s warriors, and Matt flattened every single one.

After a week of absence, Madam Gao arrived to watch a session. She limped up to Elektra, who was standing at the edge of the mat, her arms crossed. “He’s a skilled fighter,” Gao said to Elektra with a nod. Matt stopped at the sound of her voice, and one of the fighters used the opportunity to flatten him to the ground. “But distracted,” Gao added. “He needs time to mediate and study. He needs to focus solely on the task at hand.”

Elektra tapped her foot with irritation, and yelled for the rest of the warriors to get out. She ran at Matt, who somersaulted backwards into a standing position. He ducked as she ran at him, weaving out from beneath each kick and blow. Elektra threw a stick at him, which he caught with glee. She smiled. This was the Matt she wanted. They sparred until Matt was once more pinned to the floor.

“ _You_ are his distraction,” Madam Gao called over her shoulder as she left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel a bit weird co-opting such a pivotal Daredevil (comics) arc title, but nothing else seemed to fit quite as well.


	2. Distractions

At Madam Gao’s words, Matt parroted back to Elektra, “you’re my distraction.” Breathing deeply, Elektra stared into Matt’s clear brown eyes. He twitched and his eyes appeared to glance up - a reminder that her gaze that could never be reciprocated. But love… maybe this game they were playing _could_ be called love.

Elektra’s heartbeat picked up and Matt’s breath hitched in recognition. Hesitating slightly, she moved closer until their lips were nearly touching. Matt opened his mouth in anticipation, but Elektra suddenly drew away. She sat back on her haunches and stared at the man who had entered her heart. After her resurrection, he’d risked his life to force her to remember the person she used to be – to reconcile her physical body with the person she was before. Even though her memories were limited, she was still miles ahead of Matt. He needed time. Whatever that moment was, it could wait.

“Oh,” Matt said, sitting up dazed, confused, and more than a little bit disappointed.

“Come on, I have something else to show you,” Elektra said, offering him a hand. “You used to like it.”

 

Matt sniffed the liquid and drew back with a huff. “It’s strong,” he said, instinctively swirling the glass to release the smell.

“Whiskey. You always insisted on drinking it neat, even though a couple of drops of water releases the depth of flavor.”

“I don’t understand,” Matt said.

“What don’t you understand?”

“This, us…” Matt gestured to the glass, and pointed between him and Elektra.

Elektra sighed. “I didn’t tell you before because I don’t know how I feel about it yet. My memory is not much better than your own,” she said truthfully.

“Because you died too,” Matt said matter-of-factly. She’d told him that much.

“Yes.”

Matt swirled his whiskey around again and took an experimental sip. He exhaled with cough and a shocked, “oh.”

Elektra laughed. “I did that the first time too.”

Elektra slowly walked towards Matt and put her hands on his shoulders. “The two of us – we have little memory of the past, so we can make our own lives… from scratch.” She leaned her forehead against his chest, and whispered, “what do you think?”

Matt sighed into her hair. “I want to know who I was – who I am.”

“You weren’t happy,” she warned.

“How do you know that?” he said. “And even if I was unhappy, I want to know why.”

“You wouldn’t have sacrificed your life if you were truly happy.”

“Tell me again,” he said softly, swaying slightly in her arms. “Tell me how it happened.”

“Not long ago, you tried to protect me from people who wanted to capture me and kill you. We fought together and we were going to run away - far far away - if we survived. But I didn’t. Our enemy came at you with a sword and I threw myself at him, certain that he wanted me alive more than you dead, but I was wrong.” She ran her thumb lightly over Matt’s cheekbone, brushing the hair out of his eyes. “When I was resurrected, I was like you – I had no memory of the past. A woman called Alexandra tried to use me to destroy the rest of the Hand, so I killed her. A group of vigilantes in New York tried to kill me and destroy the Hand. They blew up our building, killing almost everyone inside… including you. You died protecting me.” She gave a small huff. “Tit for tat.”

“And then you brought me back,” Matt finished. “And here we are.” He kissed the top of her head, light and chaste.

“We can do anything together – you and I,” Elektra purred.

“Maybe we should run away – like we planned to before,” Matt said. “I-I don’t like these people. I don’t trust them.”

“Not yet. We have things to do. For a start, we need to get revenge on that group who blew up the building.”

Matt drew away and flexed his muscles. “Where do we find them?”

“Not yet,” Elektra warned. “They’re strong. One has bulletproof skin, the other – a woman shorter than me - has strength you wouldn’t believe, the third has a fist that can destroy the deadliest of swords, and the fourth has martial arts skills that rival your own. They’re formidable and you need practice.”

“That rival my own,” Matt repeated.

“You’re a good fighter, Matthew. The man who trained us knew that and he feared you. He feared both of us. He constantly played us off against each other.”

“That’s horrible,” Matt said.

“But we’re free now,” Elektra said, taking his hand. “He’s dead and we’re free to be together. Together, forever.”

 

* * *

 

Matt was mostly happy in the compound. He adored Elektra, and his mind and body were constantly challenged by the training and martial arts practice. He discovered that many things came naturally to him, but his memory was stubbornly misty, even with Elektra’s many prompts.

His daily activities were so exhausting that he didn’t have much time to think about his past, but at night - alone in bed - he searched for memories. One night, he thought he recalled something about his training. Elektra told him they were both orphans, and their teacher had found them and trained them before tossing them aside. Matt remembered a lot of noise and fear. But feelings aren’t memories. He rolled over and pulled his sheets over his head like a protective cocoon.

The next morning at breakfast, he said to Elektra, “I want to go out - out there.” He gestured towards the front door to the compound.

“You’re not ready,” she said. “You need more training.”

“Not to fight,” he said. He took a swig of his tea and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Matthew, don’t do that. Use a napkin,” Elektra scolded.

Matt gave an exasperated huff. “I can hear them - people talking. I want to go out there. Maybe it’ll help jog my memory.”

“Do you really want that?” she asked. “You were weighed down by your past. It hurt you.”

“I don’t know,” he said, head down. “But you remember things – things about us. I-I want to too.”

Elektra shrugged. “Go ahead.”

 

Elektra had tried to get Matt to wear shoes, but he refused. He argued that it was necessary to track the ground through touch, and wearing shoes could be compared to covering an eye. Elektra marveled at how confident he was in his abilities now that he didn’t have to hide behind the glasses, cane and business suit. He’d not gleaned that his eyes looked different to the eyes of others, and thus had lost the crippling self-consciousness that had forced him to wear sunglasses for decades.

Of course, he knew he was different. Within the first few days of his resurrection, Elektra had explained that other people have another sense, but she’d also pointed out that sight was a distraction. Considering he could mow down a dozen of the Hand’s top martial artists single handedly, Matt had to believe this was true.

And so, after breakfast, he padded out the door barefoot and wearing nothing but thin pants and a t-shirt. He scrunched up his toes at the sting of the icy concrete and hobbled down the alleyway to the main street, holding his breath against the smell. There were groups of people rushing backwards and forwards, talking, coughing, and sometimes yelling. Overwhelmed by the cacophony, Matt covered his ears for a moment and made an audible, “argh.”

Someone touched him on the arm, and he whipped away, shocked. “Mister, are you okay?” the person asked, and Matt stumbled back against the brick corner, tripping over a milk crate. This wasn’t him. He didn’t trip over, he didn’t spook. He was a mighty warrior of the Hand. He stood up straight.

“Are you alright? Can I help?” the woman asked again.

Oh. Maybe not a threat then. Matt cleared his throat. “No,” he said gruffly. Uneasy, the woman backed back. “Okay,” she said with a waver. “God bless.”

“God bless,” Matt whispered back at her, the words familiar and comforting even though he didn’t know why. And with that, he turned back to the alley way and returned to Elektra’s side.

“Too noisy,” he said flatly.

Elektra smiled and rubbed his arm affectionately. “You wanted to know,” she said. “Now you do.”

“I have to get used to it though – if I’m going to fight.”

Elektra sighed. If he was anything like her, it was only a matter of time before Matt’s memories started to return. She wanted to delay it, prevent him from exploring, but it pained her to deliberately block him from exploring.

“You’ll know when you’re ready, Matthew.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him in the direction of the dojo. “But first, I have to introduce you to swords.”

 

* * *

 

A week later, Matt ventured out again - this time in the middle of the night. He’d noticed that the sounds leaking in from the outside always died down over night, so at midnight, he trotted out through the alleyway again, searching for something, anything, that could fill the void.

He stood at the mouth of the alleyway, mapping the streets around him. To his right he could smell cooking meat, and the irritating sound of tinny music blaring from a cheap radio. He turned left, quietly padding along the sidewalk in his bare feet.

He was standing on a street corner, listening to people in their apartments when he heard approaching footsteps slow and then stop about thirty feet away. The heartrate of the stranger sky-rocketed and Matt instinctively raised his fists, ready to fight.

“Matt?” the stranger said hesitantly.

Matt bunched his fists tighter.

The man ignored Matt’s hostile stance and stepped forward. “Matt, it’s Foggy.”

Matt didn’t move.

The man’s breath shuddered. “Matt, it _is_ you. I’m not seeing a ghost. Please… say something.” He stepped forward again, holding a shaking hand out in front of him. Matt knew he should pounce, but there was something holding him back – an instinct, an ache in his heart.

Matt tilted his head up, prompting the stranger’s heartrate to jump again. “It’s you. Matt, please tell me you’re real,” the man whispered.

The stranger knew his name. He didn’t sound particularly threatening, but Elektra had warned him that Matthew Murdock had enemies. Judging from the man’s racing heartbeat, this was probably a trick. Matt made a quick decision, whipping around and running away down the street, searching for a suitable hiding place. He crouched between a dumpster and a wall, barely daring to breathe, listening for the man’s next move.

Matt had expected him to follow, to give chase, but the stranger stood frozen to the spot. He could feel the wetness of his breath condensing as soon as it hit the winter air, and he licked his lips nervously. After five minutes, Matt lost feeling in his feet, so he quietly bounced up and down to stave off the cold. He couldn’t stay here much longer. Just as Matt was about chance another escape, the stranger started towards Matt’s hiding place. It wasn’t at pace, so Matt stayed crouched behind the dumpster until he’d passed. However, the fascination lingered. This guy knew his name. He had to know why.

Ducking back out into the street, Matt stalked after the man, keeping at least a block between them. Once or twice the stranger stopped and looked over his shoulder, and Matt would flatten himself against a wall until the man sighed and resumed walking.

Eventually, the man entered a building, climbing six floors until he reached the top. Matt strained, trying to figure out what was going on. There was a shuffling and then the man’s voice - but only his voice. “Jessica, it’s Foggy…. no, I know. I never said we were friends…. Can you just listen… I think I just saw Matt… yes, I’m sure… mostly, yeah… Hell’s Kitchen. No, just a t-shirt and pants. Not even shoes…. We need to find him…. Of course I don’t believe in ghosts…. Fuck you too.” There was sob, then a crunch as something was thrown across the room.

Matt bounced up and down on his toes as he waited for another clue, but the apartment had gone silent. He stood there until the sound of his teeth chattering was too loud to ignore, and sprinted back to Elektra.

 

“Elektra, there was someone I met tonight on my walk. Someone who knew me,” Matt said when he returned to the compound. He rubbed his icy arms. The run home had warmed his insides, but his skin was covered in goosebumps and his teeth chattered slightly as he waited for her response.

Elektra turned to Matt. “Did you recognize him?” She tried to keep the quiver out of her voice. This was the moment she’d been dreading - the moment he started to encounter his past life, and she’d risk losing him again.

“No. He said my name then said something about the weather.”

“Anything else?”

“No, I ran away before he could catch me.” Matt left out the bit where he followed the mysterious man home and heard him tell others about his survival.

“That’s for the best. Here, you’re freezing,” Elektra said, draping a blanket over Matt’s shoulders. Rubbing his cold hands, she added, “we can go out again together if you’d like. I’ve heard rumors that the group that bombed Midland Circle have been meeting up in an abandoned theatre. I think you’re almost ready-”

“To defend life,” Matt said.

“To defend life,” Elektra reaffirmed.


	3. The Defenders

As Matt lay in bed, finally warmed up after his mid-winter outing, he ran through his encounter with the stranger over and over. There was no doubt about it, Matt had to find out who this man was and who he was to his former self.

The following night, Matt slipped out of the compound just before midnight and made a beeline for the building where the stranger had ended up. It was quiet on the top floor, so after waiting in a crouch on the street, he jumped up onto the old industrial fire escape and climbed up to the roof.

Matt had more patience this time. Remembering the bitter cold from the previous night, he’d donned a soft jacket before leaving the compound, so the sub-zero temperatures weren't nearly as much of a problem. An hour passed, then another. Matt started to get impatient. He paced the roof, debating his next move. He needed answers and that man and this apartment held them. He tried the rooftop access door. To his surprise, it swung open. Listening intently for a heartbeat, he could only pick up the television in the adjacent building and a light snoring from a neighboring apartment, so he crept down the stairs, his bare feet almost inaudible against the wood. As he got to the base of the stairs, he unconsciously skipped the bottom step, leaping lightly to the ground. Matt stopped in surprise. He poked the bottom step with his toe, and it creaked in response. He knew this apartment somehow – well enough that something in the back of his brain had recognized the pattern in the steps.

Matt stood there, taking in the space. The apartment smelled unremarkable. It was a bit musty, but it wasn’t unpleasant. And that’s when it hit him. The ‘neutral’ smell was him. This was his apartment.

Matt ran his fingers over the tables and chairs in the main space before dashing into the bedroom and shifting through his drawers and cupboards at an increasingly frantic pace. What he was looking for, he didn’t know. The clothing in his cupboard was near identical, and he screwed up his face trying to work out why he’d need so many duplicates. There were dots at the top. He ran his thumb over them, shook his head, then tried again. He knew these dots. He lowered his head, deep in concentration, mediating on retrieving whatever knowledge he’d lost. “Gray,” he said out loud. But that didn’t help. He ran his finger over another label. “Black.” Matt gritted his teeth and exhaled through narrowed lips. He experienced a wave of anger and pulled the entire rack from the cupboard, throwing the rail hard at the wall. Sinking onto the floor, Matt put his head in his hands, trying to slow his breathing.

Once he’d calmed, Matt shook out his hands and resumed his investigation. Everything in the bathroom was labelled, but none of it was particularly illuminating, so he padded into the living room. There was a table covered in dust, with a few sections that were comparatively clean. Something had been removed recently. His mind returned to the stranger. It made sense now. The stranger had broken into his apartment to steal whatever was on the table, then alerted others to Matt’s survival. He huffed and moved into the kitchen, feeling his way through the cupboards and avoiding the broken ceramics littering the floor. There was a familiar smell of whiskey from the corner cupboard, and he grabbed the half bottle, unscrewing the lid briefly to take in the full scent. It was sharper than the liquid Elektra gave him. He coughed and screwed up his nose, quickly replacing the bottle.

With a sigh, Matt returned to the stairs and stood there, facing out for a good half hour, trying to piece together these clues to a former life. The adrenaline from the rage he’d felt in the bedroom had now petered away, and his shoulders slumped as he started to crash. Eventually, he made his way back up the stairs and ran back to his new home via the rooftops, spinning and flipping from one building to the next.

Matt hesitated at the door to his bedroom, then crept down the hallway to the room he knew as Elektra’s. He’d never been in there, so he knocked softly, and called out her name. “Come in, Matthew,” she replied, her voice clear enough to indicate she was well awake. He slunk in, a coy expression on his face as he padded over to her bed. She patted the space next to her and fully clothed, Matt crawled under the sheets, curling into her, needy and affectionate. She sighed, and put her arm around his shoulders, whispering “rough night?”

“Mmm…” Matt grunted into her side, already half asleep. 

* * *

 

“Matthew,” Elektra whispered, poking his shoulder.

“Mmm…” Matt groaned.

“Matthew, move your ass.”

Matt rolled over. “Wha-”

“Get up. I want a coffee and you’re in the way.”

Matt touched her cheek with an expression of wonderment on his face. The moment didn’t last long, however; he rolled out of bed and landed lightly on two feet.

“Your feet are disgusting,” Elektra said. “I can’t believe you brought them into my bed.”

Matt grinned. The hair hanging lank over his eyes gave him a particularly goofy look, and Elektra couldn’t help but smile in return. This was the Matt she wanted. The one that didn’t worry about his church or his friends or his college grades or his city… He was hers. And tonight, his loyalties would be tested.

* * *

 

“Sit. Rest,” Elektra ordered that afternoon. “We’re going out tonight and you need to be at peak performance.”

“Where?” Matt said excitedly.

“That theatre I told you about – where the people who blew up our building are based – we’re heading there. They call themselves the Defenders. Who knows why,” she sneered.

Matt sat cross-legged on the nearest chair. “Just the two of us?”

“I’ve handpicked a team. I’ll take the lead. As our best fighter, you’ll be my second,” she said.

Matt grinned. “Okay.”

“I have some new clothes I’d like you to wear just for tonight.”

“No shoes,” Matt said quickly. They’d had the argument too many times, and he hoped he’d won once and for all.

“Okay, no shoes.”

* * *

 

Elektra, Matt and the three Hand warriors assembled outside the theatre. “Three heartbeats,” Matt whispered to the others.

She gestured to two of the Hand to enter from the side, while the third followed Elektra and Matt through the main entrance. Matt felt a thrill of excitement as they entered the main room. Elektra gestured for him to stay at the top of the aisle, while she strode confidently towards the stage.

The heartbeats of the three Defenders skyrocketed at their entrance. Ignoring Elektra, the woman cried, “oh my god. Matt?”

Another said, “we thought you were dead.”

The other jumped off the stage with an affectionate, “dude!”

“I thought Foggy was going insane,” the woman said again.

 _Foggy_. Matt puzzled. The weather again.

They seemed to completely ignore Elektra, even as she drew her sword.

The man who yelled, “dude,” paused in front of her. “What are you now – his keeper?”

Elektra smiled, “he belongs to no one.”

Matt gave a small nod. “No one.”

The man on the stage uncrossed his arms. “Uh, what’s going on?”

“Yeah, why are you wearing that dumbass outfit?” the woman said with a snicker.

“It’s no worse than his previous one,” stage guy muttered.

Matt tilted his head. The clothes he was wearing were soft and flexible, perfect for fighting in. Elektra had had them made up specifically for him. How dare this woman criticize Elektra. He bunched his fists and raised them in front of him.

The guy on the stage laughed. “What, are you going to fight us now?”

“Dude, who are you and what have you done to Matt?” the other joked.

“My name is Matthew and I serve the Hand.”

There was a sudden silence in the room, then the woman snorted. “Sure you do. And I’m the ambassador for Alcoholics Anonymous.”

The ‘dude’ guy didn’t find it quite so funny. “I am Danny Rand, the Immortal Iron Fist, Protector of K'un-Lun, Sworn Enemy of the Hand"

Matt raised his eyebrows, while Elektra just laughed. “I guess you’re going to have to fight us then,” she smirked, not wasting a second before she took a swipe at Danny. Matt gestured to the waiting Hand warriors behind him and took a spinning leap across the rows of seats, somersaulting onto the stage and standing in front of the two waiting Defenders.

“Matt, we don’t want to fight you,” the man said, his hands up.

Matt listened to his heart. Truth. He shook his head. “No, you blew up the building.”

“Matt, do you even know who we are?” the guy said.

“You blew up the building.”

“Matt, it’s me Luke, and Jessica,” he said, gesturing at the woman.

“Man, this is fucked up,” Jessica said to Luke, “look at him. He’s obviously been brainwashed by the Hand or something.”

“I’ve not been brainwashed-” Matt raged, launching himself at Jessica, who met his advance with a clumsy, yet effective punch. Matt leaped back and reconsidered his approach. Elektra had warned him about Jessica’s strength, but it was still a surprise.

She laughed bitterly. “So this is the way it’s going to be, huh?” She was quickly distracted as two of the Hand warriors attacked Luke and Jessica simultaneously. Matt waited for a break, then charged into the thick of the fray. As Matt managed to get Jessica on the floor, he threw his attention to Elektra, who was holding her own against Danny. He let one of the Hand team take Jessica, and rounded on Danny from behind. The man was concentrating on Elektra and didn’t notice Matt’s leap from above. Danny went down like a sack of potatoes and Elektra said, “that was easy. Next.” Matt smirked and flipped back onto the stage only be thrown back off by an incensed Jessica.

Matt took a deep breath and backflipped onto the stage, kicking Jessica’s feet out from beneath her. He was about to land another blow when his attention was diverted back to Danny. Matt could sense energy being pulled in and concentrated in Danny’s fist. Matt dipped his head, confused, and Elektra yelled out, “Matthew! Watch his hand.” Matt put an arm out in defense, and it connected with Danny’s fist, sending Matt flying across the room where he fell with a clatter against the wall. Winded, he slumped against the skirting board for a moment, building up the energy to reengage. _You’re being messy_ , Matt told himself. _Focus. Every move must have a reason. Make every move count._

“What, you want to kill him now?” Jessica said to Danny.

“No,” Danny replied, looking a little sheepish.

“So use your glow hand on these other bastards,” Jessica hissed, ducking a sword. Elektra was dancing around Jessica and Luke, goading them, trying to use their force against themselves.

Matt got to his feet and stood there for a moment, taking in the scene. His arm was starting to swell thanks to Danny’s powerful blow. He opened and closed his hand a few times, testing the joints before striding back towards the fight.

Two of the Hand warriors were lying unconscious on the stage, having suffered blows from Luke, which meant that they were now evenly matched number-wise. They paired off: Matt and Danny, Elektra and Jessica, and the remaining Hand warrior against Luke.

Although undisciplined, Danny turned out to have martial art skills nearly as good as Matt’s. Matt remembered Elektra’s original tale about the Defenders: “there’s one with a magic fist and one with fighting skills to rival your own,” she’d said. Perhaps he’d misheard and she was talking about the same person. Whatever the case, he was buoyed by the challenge.

Matt smiled as he and Danny circled each other, sizing each other up. Matt was about to launch when Danny said, “are you sure you want to do this? I thought you cared about the city. Don’t you remember?” Matt took his opponent’s hesitation as an opportunity to land a kick, quickly followed by a punch to the face.

“You asked me to look after your city,” Danny persisted. Matt landed another blow, ignoring Danny’s words. Danny returned the punch, connecting with Matt’s jaw, but without his fist aglow, Matt just absorbed the strike and kept fighting.

“You don’t remember us? We fought together, and then you stayed with her,” Danny spat, throwing a sideways glance at Elektra. “You’re one of us, dude.”

“I’m myself,” Matt roared, ducking Danny’s kick and returning a solid jab. “I don’t belong to anyone.”

“Geez, Matt, when did you become so emo?” Jessica called across the stage with a theatrical yawn. “You might not be friends with _us_ , but Foggy misses you.”

Elektra took advantage of Jessica’s momentary lapse in concentration, skewering her arm with the sword. Jessica hissed, “son of a bitch,” and held the new wound tight, moving out of the way just as Luke tossed Elektra across the room in furious retaliation.

Matt abandoned his fight with Danny and leapt over to Jessica, pinning her against the wall. “What’s this foggy?”

“ _Who_ , you idiot. _Who_ is Foggy. Foggy’s your best friend. Now get off me.” Matt didn’t move, so Jessica kneed him in the stomach while Luke grabbed Matt and threw him across the room towards Elektra.

“Come on, guys,” Luke said to Jessica and Danny. “This isn’t right. Let’s go.” Luke casually elbowed the remaining Hand warrior in the head, who toppled to the ground unconscious. They glanced back at the wall where Elektra and Matt had been thrown, but only Elektra remained. Still holding her bleeding arm, Jessica took a step back and looked around the room for any sign of Matt. “Shit,” she muttered to herself.

Elektra advanced towards the trio, sword raised. She lunged at Danny who ducked once, twice, three times. He tried to summon his chi, staring at his hand with frustration. Luke blocked a couple of Elektra’s targeted swipes before she feinted and ducked under his arm, slashing a massive line across Danny's chest. He fell to the ground and Elektra stood there with a smirk. "Let that be a lesson to you. Next time Matthew will finish the job."

"Fuck off," Jessica said. Arms crossed, she stared daggers at Elektra. This time she wasn’t going to make the mistake of dropping her gaze.

Elektra gave her a dangerous smile, before nodding and exiting the way she came.

 

"Matthew," Elektra whispered as soon as she was out the door. He appeared behind her. "Where did you go?" She hissed.

"I was covering you," he said.

"Tell me next time. I was worried."

He gently touched her cheek, which was hot and swollen thanks to a well-timed blow from Jessica. "I'm going to hang back here for a bit," he whispered.

"No, you're not. We're going back to the compound."

Matt rubbed his sore wrist. "I'm staying here. As you said, I belong to no one."

"But you serve the Hand," Elektra said through clenched teeth. "And if I say we return, we return."

"I belong to no one," he repeated firmly. He adopted a more sanguine tone and said, "I'll be back soon. I'm going to follow them and find out what they’re really up to. You go back, clean up, and I'll join you in a bit."

Elektra touched his arm. "Are you sure you're okay yourself?"

He gave her a small peck on the forehead. "Yeah, I'll be fine."

 

Once Elektra had left, Matt climbed into a small crevice in the theatre's façade and waited for the Defenders to exit. Instead, a car drew up and out rushed a woman who smelled of antiseptic, coconut and… there was something else – something he couldn't quite put his finger on. He dropped out of the crevice and followed her inside, lured by her scent.

Danny was still moaning. _Idiot_ , Matt thought. It was a mere scratch. Nothing more.

The new arrival fussed over him, tightly bandaging his chest before helping him to the car. Luke jumped into the back seat with Danny, but when they ordered Jessica to climb in, she drawled, "enough drama for the evening. I'm going home." Matt recognized a lie.

He followed Jessica for a few blocks before she stopped in the middle of the empty sidewalk. "Matt, I know you're following me," she called. Matt instinctively flattened himself against the wall, even though he was around the corner. She couldn't possibly see her... could she? Matt only knew that she had formidable strength. Maybe she could see through entire city blocks too.

"What happened?" Jessica continued. She spoke at a normal volume so she must know about his hearing. Strange. "What happened that you've forgotten everything and sided with the Hand? Did you get resurrected too?” She gave a bitter chuckle. “You would have loved that being a Catholic and all."

She sighed. "Look, Matt, can you get your ass out here and talk to me? God knows you talked enough before all this." She waited a few minutes in silence, her breathing quickening a little as the minutes passed. “Fine. If you're not going to talk, can you damn well stop following me. Geez..."

She continued walking, but Matt stayed put. He had so many questions, yet he didn’t even know where to start. He started to become aware of more of the injuries he’d sustained in the fight, and he shivered slightly, curling his toes against the icy sidewalk. After Jessica’s footsteps eventually died away, Matt loped home.

Elektra was waiting at the dining table with two glasses of whiskey. As he entered the room, she slid one of the glasses across the table, which Matt deftly intercepted as it flew off the edge. He took a long sniff of the glass, feeling intoxicated by the fumes alone.

Elektra walked around to Matt’s side of the table and leaned against the edge, glass in hand. She grasped his fingers and rubbed them affectionately. "Did you find the answers you were looking for?"

Matt shrugged. "They drove away. Iron Fist cried like a baby."

Elektra smiled. "Good."


	4. Yellow

The evening after his fight against the Defenders, Matt made his way back to the apartment that was supposedly his. He recalled Jessica's words: _"Catholic... Resurrection... You talked enough before all this..."_ He couldn't find a personality in his apartment last time, but now that he had a few hints, maybe he'd find something he missed.

Matt stood at the base of the fire escape, nursing his injured arm while plotting the best one-armed route. Elektra had tightly bandaged his wrist, but it still ached to use. Taking a running leap, he jumped onto a dumpster and pulled himself onto the fire escape with one hand. Listening for potential intruders, he crouched on the roof for a few minutes, eventually creeping down the interior stairs (and once again skipping the bottom step).

Matt padded into the bedroom. The set of drawers next to the bed held a couple of small items: a handkerchief, a folded metallic sleeve, a thick book filled with the familiar raised dots, and a much smaller notebook. He pulled out a scarf that smelled like sweat and dust, and immediately buried his nose into the rough weave. Wrapping the scarf around his neck, he breathed in the scent, slightly giddy. There was something to it – something that he couldn’t let go. Matt tried to remember, concentrating deeper and deeper until his head ached. He pounded the drawers in frustration and an object on top announced "7.34 pm." Matt jumped in fright, paused, then touched the object. "7.35 pm," it said this time. The object was quickly stuffed into his jacket, bulging and distorting the fabric.

Matt was flicking through the small notebook of slightly wonky dots when he heard the voice of the stranger coming up the stairs. Stuffing the notebook into his pocket, he dashed into the living room just as the key turned into the lock. There wasn't time to make it out without being seen, so he flew back into the bedroom and rolled under the bed. His heartbeat was racing to the point where he could feel the floorboards vibrate under him.

"I'm telling you, he'll come back if it really was him,” the stranger said. “I know Matt. He's impossible to kill off."

The stranger was part of it, Matt deduced. They tried to kill me. This was a trap. He analyzed the best way to escape. The windows were a possibility, but not ideal. He could try and fight his way out, but if they had succeeded in murdering him before, they could do it again. Shit. Why had he let his curiosity lead him into such a simple trap?

"Ergh," a woman said. "The bulb's blown."

"Probably the earthquake. There's a lamp over here somewhere."

"Oh good. That billboard makes his apartment super creepy."

"I dunno. It's more like a nightclub, don't you think?"

There was a click and the buzzing of a light bulb. "So are we really cleaning all this up?"

"If he is alive, I'd say he'd probably appreciate it," the stranger replied.

"Jess reckons he's not the same, Foggy. It's hard, but maybe we don't know what he'd like."

Matt shifted in his hiding spot. There was the name again: Foggy.

"Everyone likes an apartment that isn't filled with plaster and broken objects, Karen," the stranger snapped.

 _Karen,_ Matt repeated to himself. _Foggy, Karen_ …

"Shhh..." Karen hissed. Matt startled, flattening himself against the ground.

"What?" whispered the stranger – Foggy – no, the stranger. Matt closed his eyes tight, trying to clear his confusion. ‘The stranger’ was a simpler term. Easy. Unambiguous.

"The bedroom,” Karen said, tiptoeing to the door.

"The bedroom wasn't like that when I was here last," the stranger said, a wobble in his voice. "His entire wardrobe's been ripped apart." He ran over to the bedside drawers and wrenched them open. "His father's scarf and his notebook's gone."

"What? Let me see." There was a rustling as she pulled out the metallic sleeve, "he – he kept the monkey balloon?"

"Can we keep on topic, please," the stranger snapped, slamming the drawer shut.

"Well, what should we do? He's obviously collected the two things he cared about the most. That probably means he's not coming back."

"Not the two most," Foggy whispered, hurrying out to the living room again. There was a creak of an old door, and the sound of clips being released. "His dad's robes are here still. He wouldn't have left them. Nope. He's been here, but he'll be back."

The woman stopped picking at her fingers and gave a deep sigh. "Fog-"

"Don't help if you don't want to, Karen."

She replied in a muffled voice, "no, I'll help."

The two of them spent the next couple of hours sweeping up the broken crockery, dust and other broken objects scattered around the apartment. When they moved into the bathroom, Matt used the opportunity to stealth roll out from beneath the bed and leap back up to the roof. He huddled by the access door, unable to tear himself away.

When they eventually left with a small garbage bag of rubble, Matt crept back inside and towards the creaky door. He lifted the lid of the case inside and was rewarded with the same smell that was infused in the scarf. He caressed the soft fabric and held it to his chest, debating whether or not to leave it. After all, its presence seemed significant to the stranger. The thought of leaving the robes hurt, so he stuffed the fabric down his jacket and scrambled back onto the roof.

* * *

 

"Matthew," Elektra whispered, knocking on his bedroom door. Matt quickly stuffed his found objects down the side of his bed before opening the door with a small smile.

She gently pushed him aside and closed the door behind her. "Where did you go tonight?"

"Out," Matt said cryptically.

Elektra reached out and touched his cheek, which was still cold from the night air. He leaned into her touch and they backed back until his knees were against the bed. Matt grabbed Elektra as he fell, nuzzling his face into her chest. Straddling him, she pinned his hands above his head and he grinned, tilting his head back in temporary surrender.

The subsequent sex was as violent as it had always been. Even before their resurrections, they’d barely held back, finding a shared rhythm and style that could never be matched.

“Broken chairs can be replaced,” Elektra murmured into Matt’s side with a small giggle afterwards. The drowsiness softened them, and they curled into each other as they drifted off to sleep. 

* * *

 

Elektra found Matt sitting cross-legged on his bed, hunched over some fabric. “What are you doing?” she asked, putting her hand on his shoulder.

“Making a new fighting suit,” he said, pulling the thread taut and knotting it off. He cut the thread with his teeth, before screwing up his face and spitting out a rogue strand.

“What’s wrong with the one I gave you?”

“Nothing. I just want to use this material.”

“It’s shiny and yellow,” she said slowly, as if talking to a child.

Matt shrugged.

“It’s not exactly subtle, Matthew. It’ll be hard to hide in the shadows.”

“Can’t see shadows anyway,” he mumbled. “I’ll just have to be quicker.”

He stripped down to his underwear, earning a snigger from Elektra. Slipping into the new costume, he reached back and pulled the integrated hood over his head. It was a boxy mask that covered his eyes and had two rough seams that stuck out at angles to the top of his head. Elektra stared, trying to work out how he’d returned to horns of all things. It was an unlikely coincidence.

Matt listened for her reaction before prompting, “what do you think?”

She rubbed his stomach and chest where the satin was stretched taut against his skin. “I think it emphasizes your muscles. I like it.”

He grinned and stretched out, testing the seams. “When are we going out again?”

“How’s your wrist?”

Matt rolled his hand experimentally. “Fine.”

“Tonight then.”

* * *

 

Madam Gao watched on critically as Elektra explained to Matt the evening’s plans. Gao had remained scarce during Matt’s training. Now that she was the sole founding leader of the hand, she’d found herself busy with the Hand’s rather banal administrative requirements. However, she kept tabs on his progress. She remained cynical about Matt’s long-term loyalties, occasionally reminding Elektra of the deal they made before his resurrection – reminders that never failed to rile Elektra.

Ignoring Gao’s gaze, Elektra said to Matt, “there will be half a dozen Hand providing security while we unload the cargo. We’re providing special security, specifically targeting the Defenders if they turn up.” Matt nodded in agreement. Elektra continued, “the Iron Fist has been targeting our shipments since the Midlands Circle incident.”

“He is the enemy of the Hand,” Matt said, repeating the man’s declaration from the previous week. He thought back to Danny’s other words, and asked, “what’s K'un-Lun?”

Madam Gao cleared her throat. “It used to be my home,” she said softly. “There was a group of us who enjoyed life, who wanted to preserve our knowledge and skills over generations. There were five of us – the fingers of the Hand. I am the only one left – the only one holding that collective knowledge and experience. The elders of K'un-Lun prefer to pass knowledge through books and stories.” She smiled and added, “rather inefficient in my opinion.”

“But they don’t like your method,” Matt deduced.

“Fools,” Madam Gao said witheringly. “We can’t be complacent though. They fear our power. They want us dead. The Iron Fist will try to kill you. You must kill him first.”

Matt said, “I defend life. I don’t kill.”

Madam Gao looked at Matt then back to Elektra. “He will kill,” Gao said pointedly.

“I won’t,” Matt repeated, more firmly this time. “I don’t belong to anyone.”

“You serve the Hand,” Gao reminded Matt.

“But I don’t kill.”

Madam Gao smiled at Elektra with raised eyebrows. Elektra glared back, angry at the woman’s unspoken threat. It was an exchange that Matt was entirely unaware of, and yet he still shifted uneasily in the silence.

Keen to escape Madam Gao’s enigmatic gaze, Elektra grabbed Matt’s elbow and gave him a tug. “Come on Matthew. Let’s select tonight’s weapons.”

* * *

 

“No,” Elektra said firmly.

Matt flipped the pair of billy clubs in the air before twirling them in his hand at a dizzying speed. “Why not?”

“What are you going to do with blunt sticks?” she spat.

“Plenty.”

She jabbed at his hand, kicking the billy clubs away while he was distracted. Grabbing a hefty sword from the rack, she placed it in his hands. “What about this one?”

“Too heavy,” he said.

She chose a smaller sword, and he screwed up his face.

“What’s wrong with this one?”

“It’s uneven.”

“Two then,” she said, handing him a pair of swords.

He walked over to the rack and replaced the swords loudly and deliberately.

“Okay, at least take this.” Elektra handed him a large knife.

Matt weighed it in his hands, turning it over and assessing the weight. He nodded and slipped it into the holster attached to his leg alongside his beloved billy clubs.

* * *

 

The two of them crouched on the top of a pile of shipping containers, waiting for Iron Fist to show up. A mixture of anticipation and cold had Matt more jittery than usual, particularly as his new outfit with its thin fabric was proving less than suitable for the New York winter.

Elektra looked down at his scrunched-up toes that were white with cold. “I told you to wear shoes.”

He put his hand out to tell her to be quiet. “Iron Fist,” Matt whispered to Elektra.

“Where?”

Matt pointed to his left. “Beyond the fence.”

“Let’s go,” Elektra said, jumping from their vantage point down to the single adjacent crate. Matt followed, but stopped at the first jump, head down in concentration. Satisfied that it wasn’t a diversion, Matt leaped from crate to crate with utmost elegance.

Elektra was waiting for him at the perimeter fence and gave a huff of annoyance as he drew near. “Slow poke,” she whispered.

“He’s waiting,” Matt whispered back.

“What for? Are the other two around?”

Matt listened again. “No.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Elektra ran to the fence and slid through a narrow gap.

“Elektra, wait!” Matt called, running after her. He struggled to get through the gap. His costume snagged on a stray wire and he swore, unpicking the fabric before slithering through the wires with a grunt. He got to the duo just as Danny unleashed the full force of his fist on Elektra. She flew across the empty lot and skidded over the gravel until she met with the fence, slumping unconscious amongst the perimeter weeds.

“No!” Matt roared, running full pelt at Danny. He could sense Danny’s energy concentrating, moving towards his fist once more, but at Matt’s yells, the energy dissipated and Danny took a single step back and raised his fists in a regular defensive pose.

Matt could hear another heartbeat approach and he briefly stopped his run at Danny, assessing the threat. Female, carrying a sword, young… a little nervous. He’d deal with the Iron Fist first. He smiled and met Danny head on, punching him with such force that Danny skittered across the broken ground. Matt caught the scent of blood and his smile broadened as he crunched his way slowly and confidently towards his foe.

“Matt,” Danny moaned, “what the fuck are you doing?”

Matt came to a stop and bunched his fists.

“Seriously dude, this isn’t you.”

Matt threw himself at Danny, pinning him to the ground. “What would you know about who I am?” he growled.

“Because we’re friends. You told me to take care of your city. That’s why I’m here.”

Matt could hear Elektra struggle to her feet and the other woman’s heartbeat dangerously close. He didn’t have time for conversation, and yet he yearned to know more.

Elektra called, “Matthew, you know what to do.” At the prompt, Matt whipped out his knife, and held it above Danny’s head. To his surprise, Danny didn’t struggle. It was enough to make Matt hesitate.

“You don’t want to do this,” Danny said, his voice absurdly calm. “You need to protect the city… like you used to.”

“No,” Matt said, steeling himself.

“Matthew, it’s a trick. Don’t listen to him,” Elektra said, and Matt parroted “it’s a trick” under his breath.

“It’s not a trick,” Danny whispered. “You’re a good man, Matt-”

Matt gave a roar of frustration and flipped the knife, bringing the blunt end down on Danny’s forehead. He went limp and Matt momentarily lost himself in his confusion, breaking out of it only when Elektra yelled, “Matthew, watch your right.” He ducked sideways, narrowly missing the mystery woman’s sword. Distracted by his attempt to assess Elektra’s state of health, Matt avoided another swipe by a hair’s breath.

“Concentrate. Every move must have a purpose,” Matt whispered to himself. He couldn’t afford to be complacent. The mystery woman was disciplined and skilled, and her style familiar. Matt drew his billy clubs and growled, “you were trained by the Hand.”

“I’m not the Hand,” she said, lithely avoiding a kick. “That’s not who I am.”

“You fight like the Hand,” he replied, blocking her sword and kicking her away with enough force that she doubled up in pain.

“You’re right,” she gasped, catching her breath. “I was trained by them, but they don’t own me – just like they don’t own you and they don’t get to tell you what to do. Danny knows it, I know it, the only one who doesn’t, is you.”

Matt paused for a moment and turned his attention back to Elektra, who was limping towards the fight. Matt could hear the creak of her fractured bone, and hissed, “Elektra, I’ve got this.”

The lapse in concentration was all it took. The mystery woman took a flying leap and slashed across Matt’s chest and arm. He gasped and stumbled back, tripping over a broken bottle and falling to the ground with a heavy thud. The ground seemed to tilt sideways, threatening to toss him into whirling oblivion. There was a clash of swords and he tried to get up, pushing his feet weakly against the loose gravel. He opened his mouth to call Elektra’s name, but before he could try she was there, cradling his head. “Don’t,” she whispered, “don’t speak.” As Elektra murmured a tortured, “I’m your distraction. I’m sorry,” Matt struggled once more to get up, to console her, but the world finally spun out from beneath him, and he slumped into her arms.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse my rather chaste sex scene. I'm better at dialogue...


	5. Let's run away

Elektra’s head pulsed with pain as she braced herself to take Matt’s weight. His muscles might have been appealing to the eye, but carrying them was a whole different kettle of fish. With Matt limp over her shoulder, she stood up from a crouch. Her vision blurred and she stumbled sideways before breathing out through narrowed lips and gathering herself. Every couple of blocks she paused and leaned against a wall or a fence, her teeth clenched against her headache. But she didn’t dare put Matt down, fearing she’d never be able to pick him up again. She was half-way back to the warehouse when it dawned on her that if the Hand’s ninjas had seen Matt’s reaction to Iron Fist, he’d be dead before morning. Madam Gao’s conditions to Matt’s resurrection were clear, and there was no doubt that the old woman was biding her time before the near inevitable (re-)attempt on his life. No, she had to find an alternative.

Stumbling past a church, she saw the faded sign: “Saint Agnes Mission.” She stopped and leaned against the crumbling stone. In the many months since her own resurrection, memories had been slowly returning – most of them trivial, but some were issues of concern in her past life. She remembered that Matt had paradoxical Catholic beliefs – beliefs that seemed contrary to the man she knew. After all, he wouldn’t hesitate before beating a thief or a crooked cop to a bloody pulp, and he dressed as a devil for goodness sake. The Catholicism had got in the way of their relationship before, she knew that much. She couldn’t remember how, but there was something there – a memory, niggling, painful even. If she had an ounce of strength left, Elektra would have left then and there, but as it was, she was flaking. Pursing her lips, she stumbled down the narrow path, lowered him to the ground, and stumbled against the door in lieu of knocking.

The woman who answered the door whispered through a hatch, “it’s after midnight. We’re closed.”

Before Elektra could answer, the hatch slid closed. She knocked again. Nothing. She tried yet again and the hatch reopened. “Please leave or I’m going to have to call the police,” the woman said in a low voice that was more apologetic than threatening.

“He needs help,” Elektra whispered. “He’s unconscious and he’s going to bleed out if you don’t help.”

The woman was joined by another and they debated the matter in hushed tones. “Sister Angelica, we should at least consider it,” the second woman said.

“The rules are clear, Sister Margaret. An exception to the rule means that it’s no longer a rule. Do you remember the last time you-”

“That was _one_ time. Think of all the people who didn’t resort to violence.”

The first woman, Sister Angelica, cut the conversation short and called to Elektra, “I’ll call you an ambulance.”

“It’s not safe,” Elektra said in hushed tones, now holding her throbbing arm. “He’ll be killed. There are people who want to harm him.”

“That’s not what we do,” Angelica replied.

“He’s not a criminal. He’s a good man. Too good. He…” Elektra paused, trying to figure out how to get them to believe her. “His name is Matthew – Matthew Murdock. He’s Catholic.”

“I’ll call you an ambulance,” the first woman repeated.

She was quickly interrupted by Sister Margaret, who said hurriedly, “no, no, we can help.”

The hatch slid closed and there was another frenzy of conversation between the two women. Eventually, the door creaked open. Elektra squinted into the light, before ducking her head. She crouched next the bloody man at her feet, weakly tugging at his arm.

“You’re hurt yourself,” said Sister Angelica to Elektra, as Sister Margaret bent over Matt, lightly touching Matt’s cheek and then the makeshift bandages Elektra made by ripping up his new suit. “What are his injuries?”

“He was cut… a heavy blade… his upper arm and chest. He’s lost a lot of blood… and he fell…” Elektra put her hand over her forehead, desperate to lie down. “Look, I need to – please look after him. No one must know he’s here. He’s in danger and I can’t protect him.”

Elektra darted down the path, and Sister Angelica called, “come back, we can’t-”

“Yes, we can,” Margaret interrupted. “Help me get him inside. If he doesn’t bleed to death, he’ll die from hypothermia. It’s freezing out here.”

Sister Angelica pursed her lips. In silence, she bent down to take Matt’s legs, allowing Sister Margaret to take his significantly more solid upper half.

Elektra stood around the corner, listening to the Sisters struggle with Matt until she was satisfied they’d taken him in. After limping across Hell’s Kitchen, she was two blocks away from the Hand compound when she realized she had no believable explanation for Matt’s disappearance. She couldn’t make a mistake with this one. She stood in the street for a good couple of minutes before doubling back to Matt’s apartment.

The first thing she did was raid Matt’s thankfully well-stocked first aid kit. She wrapped her aching wrist and cleaned out the gravel that was embedded in her left hand. Elektra didn’t want to admit it, but if Matt hadn’t been at the docks tonight, she’d be injury free. He was her distraction, just as much as she was his. Yet, she wouldn’t change things for the world. A few weeks back, he’d asked her to run away with him, away from the Hand. He was ahead of her there. Elektra knew what they had to do next.

After cleaning her wounds, Elektra stood in the living room and took in the sparse apartment. It had been cleaned since she last visited. She thought back to those confusing days when memories of her past life had started to emerge. This apartment had been the start of the slow process. It was Matt that forced her to remember him, to remember their love. As she lay down on his neatly made bed, breathing in the smell of the man she loved, more slivers of memory came into focus, small and fleeting. Gao had said the resurrection process was designed to retain the Hand’s ancient collective knowledge, but it seemed ridiculously slow. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine Matt was next to her, rather than bleeding out in the hands of the Catholic Church.

 

* * *

 

The headache came first, then the pain across his chest. His arms and legs tingled and he experimentally moved his fingers before realizing it was a painful mistake. “Get Maggie,” a voice said in a hurried, but hushed tone.

“Sister Margaret,” an imperious voice corrected.

“Sister Margaret,” the first woman repeated, a hint of irritation in her voice.

Matt made to lift his head, but a wave of nausea washed over him and he sunk back into the pillow.

“Stay still,” someone said, her hand light against his shoulder.

No, no, no…. Matt tried to get up again to no avail. He tried to form words, call out for Elektra, but he only managed a croak.

There was a rush of footsteps and someone grasped his hand. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” the woman whispered, barely audible.

 _Thank you?_ Matt screwed up his face, confused.

“We should get him to drink something,” the first woman said.

“Good idea. Matthew, we have some water here-”

“You lift his head.”

Hands cupped the back of his head and slowly lifted him up. A cup was placed against his lips and he coughed as his mouth couldn’t quite cope with the quantity of water flooding in.

“Lie him down again.”

“No don’t. He might inhale it.”

“Where’s a pillow? We’ll prop him up.”

“Careful of his chest.”

After many more attempts, he finally managed to swallow enough water to satisfy the sisters. One by one they departed until only one remained. She picked up his hand and pressed a string of beads into his palm. He slowly felt along the strand until he came to a metal cross. He ran his finger up and down over the rough metal, soothed by the repetition.

“Go to sleep,” she said. “I’ll be here. You’re safe.”

Matt had no reason to trust this woman. He had no idea who she was or where he was, and yet her voice settled him. Feeling the weight of fatigue behind his eyes, he let himself drift away into sleep.

 

* * *

 

“His apartment’s no problem,” Danny said. “I’m happy to pay the rent indefinitely.”

“Can you pay mine too,” Jessica muttered sarcastically.

“Sure.”

Jessica raised one eyebrow and looked at Danny like he was mad.

“Guys, can we get back to the matter at hand,” Luke interrupted. He was leaning against Danny’s kitchen bench. Claire, who was perched on top of the bench, leaned over and gave him a supportive touch.

“Nelson, what do you think?”

“I think he’s taken his father’s boxing robes and we haven’t seen him since.”

“But the bed. It was slept in.”

“For all we know, it was the same night he returned for the robes.” Foggy pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what to do. This whole affair – I just – I just don’t know what to think.”

“If he is a zombie, should we even be paying for a zombie apartment?” Luke said.

“He’s not a zombie, Luke. I don’t know what happened exactly, but I’m not writing him off.”

Jessica took a swig of beer. “I hate to say it, but Danny’s right. People change. Even if he is under the control of the Hand right now, he might not be next week.”

They sat there in silence. There was no arguing with Jessica on that point, not after her experience.

“Look, discussing his apartment isn’t really the priority here,” Danny finally said. “I told you, I’ve covered that. It’s a non-issue. What I am concerned about is finding him. If he’s alive and well and with the Hand, then we need to bring him back into the fold. If he’s – if he’s not alive… then we need to find him… you know, for closure.”

Foggy looked down at the ground, willing away the tears. It was hard enough the first time around, not knowing if Matt was dead or not. This second time it was even worse, particularly with all the tales about Matt not being Matt and all. He had no doubt that Matt was in there somewhere… if he was still alive.

Karen had been unusually silent throughout the entire meeting. She finally piped up, “I have a-a friend. He’s found Daredevil in the past when no one else could. He could do it again.”

Foggy flashed her a look, and she deliberately turned away, staring at a point on the opposite wall.

“Yeah, do that,” Claire said. There was a silence. No one had any other suggestions beyond just looking for him. Jessica had going out every night in search of Matt to no avail. Danny spent his nights roaming Hell’s Kitchen, keeping his promise to Matt to protect the city, while also hoping Matt would show up again, knife or not. Luke had tapped into his network of mentees, and Claire kept an eye on the hospitals, just in case he’d been taken in.

After the meeting, Foggy pulled Karen aside. “A _friend_? Please tell me you’re not talking about Castle.”

Karen gave a nervous laugh. “Frank? No, of course not.” She was thankful that only Matt could hear her lies.

But then again, Foggy didn’t seem all that convinced either. Narrowing his eyes, he said, “who’s this friend then?”

“Just someone who I use for stories, you know. I have to protect my sources, Foggy.”

“That’s convenient,” Foggy grumbled.

“Maybe we should stay at Matt’s apartment for a bit. You know, just in case he comes home.”

“You heard the others,” Foggy hissed. “Matt might be dangerous.”

“I don’t think he’d hurt you, Foggy.”

Foggy sighed. “I don’t think he would either.” He massaged his chin, digging his fingers deep into his bone. “The bastard. Nothing is simple with Matt.”

Karen pulled Foggy’s hand away from his chin to stop him from drawing bruises. She said softly, “but that’s why we love him, is it not?”

 

* * *

 

Matt woke up to someone pulling at his chest. Without thinking, he swung at them. There was a shriek then a bang as the woman fell to the floor. Matt froze, too shocked to move.

He heard the sound of running across the creaky floorboards and a gasped, “Sister Margaret, are you alright?”

Sister Margaret stumbled to her feet. “Yes, yes, I’m fine, Sister Maria” she said, patting down her apron. “I was cleaning his wound and he just got a fright, that’s all.”

“Matthew’s bleeding,” Maria said.

They both leapt into action, pressing down on his oozing wound. “Shall I call the doctor?”

“No, no it’s fine,” Sister Margaret said. “The stitches are intact. The sudden movement just caused it to bleed. Go, I can handle it.”

As soon as Maria had left, Margaret sat next to Matt’s hip and continued cleaning the wound. She said softly, “you have a killer left hook – j-just like your father.”

“I – I don’t remember. I don’t know – I’m having a bit of trouble…”

“Shhh shhh… it’s fine, Matty. You hit your head last night. It’s probably a bit of concussion.”

Somewhere in the depths of Matt’s murky memory, something pinged at the mention of ‘Matty’. He gave a small moan and Margaret pulled away, think she’d hurt him. “Sorry.”

She dabbed at the oozing blood with gentle fingers. “Do you want me to tell you about him?”

Matt silently opened and closed his mouth before stuttering, “my-my father? You knew him?”

“I did,” she said, binning the blood-soaked gauze and opening a fresh packet. “He was a kind man. He raised you on his own and made you work hard – harder than you probably should have at that age.”

“Oh.”

“It got you into college though. He would be proud of you.”

Matt frowned. “Would?”

“He passed away… many years ago now.”

“Oh.” Matt found it hard to connect with these facts. He listened as if she were reading a biography about someone else. He couldn’t cry for someone he couldn’t remember.

“It’s not often that a boxer’s son becomes a lawyer.”

Matt bit his bottom lip. Small glimpses of memory, tiny slivers flitted in and out again before he could fully grasp the whole picture.

In the absence of a response, Sister Margaret continued, “your father - he was a solid man, but light on his feet. When he made up his mind to do something, he did it. Nothing could get in his way.”

Matt’s lip trembled and Margaret retreated to the sink, covering up the sound of her quickening heartbeat with the running tap. As she wrung out a cloth, she continued, “when you were born, he-”

“Please, no more,” Matt said, confused and overwhelmed. “I can’t – I don’t want- not now-”

“Of course, I’m sorry. I’ll re-dress your wound and let you rest.”

 

* * *

 

Matt lay in the tiny room alone, listening to the dozens of people in adjacent rooms. From what he could tell, he wasn’t the only one with injuries to tend to, and yet for some reason he was segregated from the other patients. He tried to sit up, but the combination of dizziness and restricted movement from the row of stitches across his chest meant that going anywhere was out of the question. He lay there, tapping his right fingers as a distraction.

He had no idea what to do next. Elektra had pretty much done everything for him since he’d been resurrected. She’d organized meals, dressed him, ordered him to sparring practice, not to mention teaching him things that he’d forgotten following his rebirth. This was not to say that he _wasn’t_ capable. He just hadn’t needed to be. But now, Elektra was gone ( _where?_ ), he was in a foreign building ( _what?_ ), with strangers who seemed far from threatening and at least one who even knew his father ( _who?_ ).

When the woman returned, he stuttered out a few questions, starting with “where am I?”

“Saint Agnes mission,” the woman replied, bowing her head briefly.

“H-how?”

“You were brought in by a woman-”

Matt struggled half-upright. “Where is she?”

“She left," Sister Margaret replied, a hint of reluctance in her voice. "She said you were in danger and we had to look after you.”

“But-but- did she – did she say she was coming back?”

“No, dear, but-”

“I don’t understand." Matt rubbed his forehead. "In danger from whom?”

“She didn’t say. The other sisters – they weren’t so keen-”

Matt bunched his fists around the coarse sheets. “I need to find her. Get back-”

“We can help you get home, Matthew. I’ll help you. Or you can stay here as long as you need.”

“Sister – Sister Mar…”

“Sister Margaret,” she confirmed.

“I don’t understand.” Matt was getting increasingly distressed.

Sister Margaret touched his temple near where he'd cracked his head against the asphalt. “You hit your head. Do you have a friend I can call?”

Matt squirmed sideways off the bed and landed with a heavy thud on the cold tiled floor. He groaned with pain as a couple of his stitches popped open. He wasn’t going anywhere just yet.

 

* * *

 

“Psst! Matthew. Wake up.”

“Elektra! I tried to leave, but – but-”

“It doesn’t matter. You need to stay here for another two days. But first, I need to take your photo.”

“My what?”

“Shhh. You need to sit up. White background, let me see…. Can you sit up over here?”

With Elektra pretty much wholly taking his weight, Matt shuffled over to the far wall and sat heavily on the chair.

“Good,” Elektra whispered. “Your hair! You look like shit, Matthew.”

“I feel like shit,” Matt replied earnestly.

“Fair enough. Now, I need you to pretend to look into a camera. Can you do that? Straight ahead. Eyes… no… chin up… like this,” Elektra tilted his chin up and towards her. “Shit. Maybe if I… yeah, straight at my voice.” Elektra ducked down so that her mouth was directly behind the lens. “Good. There should be something useable here.”

“Elektra, what are you doing?”

“Planning ahead.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’re going back to bed.” Elektra helped Matt onto the cot.

“I’ll be back in two days time,” she whispered, ignoring Matt’s protests as she slipped out the door.

 

* * *

 

Two days later, Matt was sitting anxiously on a chair in his tiny room, fully dressed in a second-hand shirt, jumper and jeans.

"Good news," Sister Margaret said, bustling into the room.

Matt sat up straight. "Is she here?"

"Oh, no – not that. I found you a cane."

Matt looked puzzled.

“For navigation,” she added, perplexed by Matt’s continued memory issues. “Are you okay?”

"Mmm yes," Matt said taking the stick and running his hand along it curiously. It obviously meant a lot to her, so he said, "thank you."

"You're welcome. Um, I could find you some glasses if you'd like, but we don't have anything quite like your old ones as you can probably imagine."

Matt nodded, again, not quite understanding what she was talking about. He had a faint memory of glasses, but he felt anxious every time he tried to remember their significance, so he tried to put it out of his mind.

"Are you sure you want to leave so soon? Your wound is still quite red. It'd be better for you to rest. Even if it’s only a couple more days."

“I’m sure. Elektra will look after me.”

Sister Margaret looked at him with pity. He was convinced this mystery woman was coming for him, and yet she'd made it quite clear to the Sisters that she couldn't care or protect him.

"If- if she doesn't, maybe I could call your friend, Foggy," Margaret suggested.

"No!" Matt yelped. "I mean, no thanks." He twisted the cane in his hands. "How-how do you know about F-Foggy?"

"You two famously took down Wilson Fisk. Everyone in Hell's Kitchen knows about your partnership."

Matt nodded again, trying to deal with this extra information: he and Foggy were partners, not just friends. Matt puzzled. If they were so close, why did Foggy want to kill him?

 

* * *

 

Over the course of the day, Matt grew increasingly tired. He eventually capitulated and lay down, although he stayed fully dressed and ready to go. The Sisters had retired for the night by the time Elektra crept into Matt’s tiny room. Despite his best efforts, he’d had drifted off to sleep and he awoke with a panicked huff.

"Shhh... come on, we have to go," Elektra whispered.

"I-I should say goodbye."

"No time for that. Come on, Matthew."

Matt shook his head. "I should-"

"Fine. Write them a note."

"Write them?"

"Yeah." Elektra searched the room for a pencil and paper and put the pencil in Matt's right hand. Matt seemed confused, and Elektra snapped her fingers. "I forgot, left hand," and tugged the pencil from Matt's right hand. "Here, you remember how to fight. Surely you can remember how to write as well."

Matt concentrated hard, and eventually scribbled out something approximating a thank you note.

"It's the thought that counts," Elektra muttered. "Anyway, come on."

They padded down the hallway and Elektra helped Matt climb through a slim window, giving him the occasional "shush" as his pained panting grew louder.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see," Elektra said, gesturing him towards a waiting car. "Get in."

Gritting his teeth, Matt slid into the back seat. "Where-"

"The airport," Elektra said to the driver before turning back to Matt. "Are you intent on carrying that cane around?"

"I-I don't know. They gave it-"

"Stick it in here," Elektra said, unzipping the tiny case waiting for them on the back seat. "I see the nuns managed to get you into shoes," she said. "Can I convince you to swap them for something that doesn't smell like rancid foot?"

Matt wasn't listening. As soon as Elektra opened the case, the familiar smell of the scarf and notebook floated out. Matt put his hand into the case and touched the scarf, and notebook before running his hands over the pyramidal talking clock. "How-"

"With difficulty. But I had to get a few of my things, so I figured two birds, one stone et cetera."

"No, I mean how did you know-"

"There had to be a reason you were hoarding a tatty scarf, notebook and bashed up clock."

Matt blushed and mumbled a "thank you."

After a complete change, Elektra looked him up and down and said, "much better." The pace at which Matt was able to change clothes with his limited mobility meant that by the time his shoelaces were tied, they were just pulling up at JFK airport.

Elektra passed the driver a wad of cash as they got out of the car, and took Matt's hand with a bounce in her step. "You said you wanted us to run away, and I took your request seriously, Matthew."

"Why all the secrecy?"

"The Hand wanted you to kill. I don't understand your reluctance to be honest, but it's your choice. Unfortunately, it also marks you as a target. They know, Matthew. They know you had the opportunity to kill the Iron Fist and didn't. That puts you at risk and I can't have it."

"It's my fight."

"Yes, but not in your condition. In case you hadn't noticed, your chest is being held together by some flimsy thread."

"So we're coming back?"

"We're free to do whatever we wish." She put on a posh accent, and said with a giggle, "now, Mr and Mrs Martin have to check in and then proceed directly to the first class lounge." She nudged his passport against his hand. "Your passport, Mr Michael Martin."

"Michael Martin?"

"Yeah, as long as you're holding that passport it is. Remember, when we go through immigration pretend to look directly where they tell you."

"Mmm hmm." Matt hooked his hand around Elektra's elbow – a habit more than anything – and tried to act like a rich boy of leisure as he'd been instructed. He couldn't help breaking into a smile every few minutes. He had Elektra all to himself, they were running away from all the confusion, all the strangeness, all the interactions with his past acquaintances and/or foes. He pushed out the growing unease about his supposed friendship with the Foggy guy, and with his head down, whispered with a broad grin, "Mr and Mrs Martin."

 

* * *

 

"Matthew, slow down," Elektra hissed as Matt mowed into the smoked salmon and cheese provided in the first class lounge. He'd barely eaten over the last few days, repelled by the overcooked meals provided to him at the shelter, and now he was starving. As a distraction, Elektra nudged a thin stemmed glass into his hand. "Here, champagne. _Actual_ champagne." Matt was about to take a sip when Elektra purred, "à ta santé" and clinked his glass. "Oh, uh, a ta..."

"Santé. A ta santé. Cheers, or literally, to your health."

"I think I remember that," he said.

"You used to speak French – to an extent. It'll come back once we're in Lyon."

Matt smiled and leaned into her. "Lyon?"

"You'll enjoy the food."

Matt grasped Elektra's hand and said excitedly, "what else will we do?"

"Well, we'll drink wine and eat cheese for a start. Then – well, I don't really know. We can do whatever we like."

"Like sex." Matt nuzzled into her neck and breathed, "I'd like that." He stopped with a sudden pained, "oh."

"What is it?"

"My stitches just pulled. I'm fine." He touched the brace around her wrist from the minor break a few nights prior. "Are you okay?"

"I am now - with you. I don't know how you do it, Matthew. The light inside you – it's infectious."


	6. Nelson & Murdock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nearly two years later...

Foggy woke up to the sound of the coffee machine coming from his kitchen. The combination of sleepiness and the strangeness of the situation (what kind of robber makes _coffee_?) meant that he didn’t quite register it as a threat at first. He flashed a look at his clock radio. 3.33am. Tensing, Foggy tiptoed across the room, grabbed his baseball bat from behind his bedroom door and slowly crept up the hallway, the bat raised above his shoulder. As he peeked around the corner, he saw a figure with long straggly hair sitting at the kitchen table. The person was silhouetted against the window, the gibbous moon glowing behind him.

“Foggy, I’ve made you a coffee,” the intruder said, his tone upbeat.

Foggy squinted into the darkness, confused. “M-Matt?”

“I couldn’t remember if you took milk or not, sorry.”

“You’re–you’re sorry about _milk_?”

Matt took a sip of his own cup and sat back, crossing his legs.

Foggy slowly lowered the bat. “Uh, can I turn on the light?”

Matt gave a shrug. “Your apartment.”

“Oh you noticed, did you?” Foggy flicked on the kitchen light and gave a small, slightly hysterical laugh as he saw Matt for the first time in almost two years. He was tanned and his hair - far from being straggly - was shiny and almost blond from sun exposure. He had a gold ring on one finger, and was wearing an expensive looking suit. He flashed one of his special Matthew Murdock smiles, and most of Foggy’s residual hostility melted away.

“Exciting news, Foggy. I found us a corner office with roof access.”

“For what?”

“For Nelson & Murdock of course.”

Foggy reached for the coffee in an attempt to anchor himself. He breathed on the top a few times, cooling the surface before taking a tentative sip. The entire time, Matt sat there grinning like the Cheshire Cat, seemingly unaware of Foggy’s reaction.

Finally, Foggy put down his coffee and said slowly, “Matt, where have you been?”

“All around the place, Foggy,” Matt chirped. “We spent most of our time on the South Coast of France, but we lived in Northern Spain for a bit – Basque region – absolutely delicious…then there was Athens – also delicious. Then we headed up to Helsinki, then Lausanne – it was getting a bit cold so we headed south to Dunedin - the New Zealand Dunedin, not the Scottish Dunedin. That proved colder than expected so we went to Hobart, Sydney, Ho Chi Minh City, Kunming, Lijiang, uh, then… what was it called…” Matt snapped his fingers a few times, trying to remember the Korean city where he’d eaten the delicious crab.

Foggy cut him off. “That’s not what I meant, Matt, and you know it… I think.” Foggy shook his head. “That kinda explains the spread of copycat Daredevils around the world – I guess you didn’t give that up in your new life… whatever it is.” Foggy looked down at his coffee and said softly, “but really, you disappeared. No communication. Nothing.”

Matt nodded his head. “Yes, Elektra warned me you might be stuck on that.”

Foggy jerked his head up. “Elektra? Is she here too?”

“Mmm, no. She’s in Japan.” He looked wistful for a moment, then changed back to excited Matt. “So, should we have a look at the office?”

“Matt, it’s three in the morning,” Foggy snapped before realizing his error. He rubbed his forehead, “sorry, I guess you can’t tell.”

“There’s almost no traffic on the street. Either it’s midnight or there’s been a plague of some kind.”

“Alright, smarty pants,” Foggy said, adding a muttered, “at least some things haven't changed.” He turned to the cupboard and rustled through the packages until he found a box of cookies. It was something to do while he gathered his thoughts. He offered the packet to Matt, who screwed up his nose and shook his head. Foggy slowly munched his way through a cookie, taking the odd sip of coffee in between bites. After he brushed the remaining crumbs from his pajamas top, he told the silent, waiting, Matt, "you still haven’t explained what happened. Twenty months ago, I saw you in the street and you ran away as if you didn’t even recognize me.”

“I didn’t – I didn’t recognize you.” Matt pulled at his chin in an almost comical manner. “Your name threw me off for a bit. Foggy. I thought you were talking about the weather.”

“So you didn’t remember me?” Foggy’s voice grew smaller, weaker.

“Not at the time. Spot of amnesia. I think I’m mostly caught up now.”

“Caught up?”

“You might have to remind me about the New York penal codes.”

“That’s right. Murdock & Nelson,” Foggy said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Do you remember running off in the middle of Frank Castle’s trial to fight ninjas? Do you remember telling me to close our business?”

“I didn’t say that, Foggy. I never-”

“You might as well have.”

Matt slouched a little and then sat up straight and gave him a toothy smile. “Oh well, water under the bridge. What do you say? Do you want to see this place?”

 

* * *

 

Come morning, Foggy lay in bed, scared to venture into the living room. If it was a dream… well, that wouldn’t be anything new. On the other hand, if Matt was actually sleeping on his couch, things were about to get even more complex.

In the end, Matt took the decision out of Foggy’s hands. There was a light knocking on the bedroom door and Matt called out, “Foggy? Um, I’m sorry to disturb you, but I told the real estate agent 10am.”

 _You’ve got some nerve, Murdock_ , Foggy thought to himself, but instead, he cleared his throat and croaked out a “I’ll be out in a tick. Make some more coffee.” He muttered under his breath a mocking, “make yourself at home.”

Matt replied, “will do.”

Matt chatted excitedly about the office while Foggy silently sipped at his coffee. “It’s ADA compliant, Foggy. There’s a lift, a meeting room, a waiting room, three offices – for future expansion - _and_ a separate kitchen so that the whole office doesn’t smell of burnt coffee.”

Foggy rolled his eyes and silently offered his arm to Matt as a kind of peace symbol. “Okay, let’s go see this place.” Matt looked thrilled, but Foggy quickly added, “this is not me agreeing to the business though, you understand? You can’t just come back after everything that happened and demand things.” Matt just raised his eyebrows and gave Foggy a knowing smile.

At 10am, Matt was tapping impatiently at the lift button on the ground floor of the office building. Foggy looked nervously around the foyer before hissing, “you know the lift’s not going to go faster if you tap the button.”

“I know. I’m just testing the wiring. If we’re going to rent an office on the top floor, I want to know that the lifts are regularly serviced.”

“Right,” Foggy said, unconvinced.

It was only later over pancakes in the diner opposite the proposed office that Foggy tried to continue their 3am conversation. “So, you’ve been travelling with Elektra for what, almost two years. What have you been doing all that time?”

“Oh this and that. We drank a lot of wine, ate a lot of cheese, had a lot of sex and-”

“No! No, I don’t want to know.”

“I was going to say-”

“No!”

“-we took in the sights.”

Foggy rolled his eyes at Matt’s phrasing. “The _sights_ …”

“Yes. The colosseum, the Venus di Milo, Michelangelo’s David, the snowy peaks of Switzerland and Jade Dragon Snow Mountain...” Matt sucked in his breath and reached across the table to Foggy’s wrist. He grinned and said, “we should go on a trip! Just the two of us. I could take you to Lyon. Oh the food! You’d love it.”

“Do you want to go on a trip or start a law firm, Matt?” Foggy said grimly.

Matt looked taken aback at Foggy’s negativity. “They’re not mutually exclusive, Foggy.” He tapped absently on the table. “So, what have _you_ been up to?”

“Mmm… not much. Corporate law. Lots of money-”

“Like you always wanted,” Matt said with a hesitant smile.

“Yeah, like I always wanted,” Foggy said, but his lack of enthusiasm showed. He looked carefully at Matt, still confused by his friend’s surprise reappearance, not to mention his bizarre behavior. “Where-where did you get all the money to travel?”

“Elektra’s trust of course.”

“Of course,” Foggy echoed with a roll of his eyes.

“We also earned it along the way. We were sought after for our skills at rescuing kidnap victims. Not a single fatality,” Matt said proudly. “Not one.” He tapped on the table a few more times and said, “we earned a lot of money doing that - more than I ever earned as a lawyer. Oh, and I also did a bit of pro bono work on the side.”

“Let me guess - as Daredevil, not Matt Murdock attorney-at-law.”

“Mmm, yes.”

“Which means you had to remember Daredevil, which mean that you had to remember me.” Foggy took a sip of his diner coffee that tasted like ashtray and had the texture to match. He grimaced and said, “why didn’t you contact me?”

“I-I thought it was neater this way. Fresh start and so on. Plus, Elektra and I were having fun.”

“You didn’t consider that your friends might have benefited from just a phone call? We didn’t know if you were alive or dead, and after you attacked Danny and Jess and Luke, well, we thought-”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that.”

“You need to apologize to them.”

Matt’s chipper façade was quickly fading. He sat back and took a sip of coffee before running his finger in circles around the cup’s base, evidently stalling.

Foggy leaned forward and whispered, “so you’re not part of the Hand then?”

“No.”

“Just no? No explanation?”

“Not right now, no.” Matt licked his lips and said, “all you need to know is that as my memories started to come back, it became clearer and clearer that New York was the place I needed to be. I needed to be here… with you.” Head down, Matt thought for a moment, a slight frown on his face. Then he raised his head and pulled his mouth back into a grin. “Can I show you something?” Before Foggy could respond, Matt tossed a wad of cash on the table and pulled Foggy outside. “Come on,” he said impatiently.

“Where are we going?”

Matt pulled him towards a fruit and vegetable stall. “I can smell the ripeness of every single piece of fruit here. I can tell which pesticides were used and which region of the world they were grown. I can also tell you which piece will taste best.” His fingers wiggling, he carefully chose a single pear. “Here, this one. Taste it.”

Foggy stuttered something uninterpretable, and Matt said, “it’s called fruit, Foggy. Your current diet of…” Matt paused theatrically, “pork burrito with extra cheese last night, cheeseburger for lunch, chocolate and pecan muffin for breakfast, and then the previous day it was fried-”

“Yeah, I know, I know,” Foggy said, poking Matt to get him to stop. “Show off,” Foggy muttered, sniffing the pear before hesitantly biting off a chunk. It was perfectly ripe, juicy and sweet, with none of that nasty grain that came with fruit past its prime.

Matt pulled at Foggy’s arm once again, and took off down the street, stopping at a busker. “May I?” Matt asked, throwing a wad of bills into the violin case.

The busker glanced at Matt’s generous donation with wide eyes before handing him the violin. “Go for it,” the busker said with a laugh.

Matt gripped the bow and drew it across the strings, producing an ungodly screech.

Foggy put his hands over his ears and the busker said, “oh man, you deaf as well?”

Matt kept going and within a minute, he was belting out a lyrical tune. Foggy rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help smiling all the same. Matt’s enthusiasm was catching. Matt handed the violin back to the bemused busker and said to Foggy, low and quiet, “I can hear pitches far above and below the normal hearing range of a human. If you ever want to incapacitate me, hit one of those high notes.”

“I wouldn’t-” Foggy started, but Matt shot across the road before he could finish. Alarmed, he called, “Matt, wait!” but Matt wasn’t stopping for anything or anyone. He dashed through the moving traffic like it was a game of Frogger.

Matt was balancing on a narrow railing by the time Foggy crossed the street, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. “Matt, get down,” Foggy hissed. “You’re crazy.”

“Nope. Not crazy, Foggy.”

He flipped backwards into a somersault and landed lightly on his feet. He gave a brief twirl of his cane then stood there, leaning against the handle, a broad grin on his face. Foggy looked around frantically, trying to gauge the reaction of potential witnesses, but the no one was paying attention to the one-man show.

Matt said earnestly, “I wasn’t happy, Foggy –I-I know that now. I had to cover up who I was. I had to be someone who I wasn’t just so I didn’t offend people. I’m sick of it - I’m sick of pretending, I’m sick of the guilt, I’m sick of pretending to be conservative.  So this is who I am now.” He took a deep breath. “Take it or leave it.” He gave a small nod of his head and waited expectantly for Foggy’s response, suddenly looking quite vulnerable.

“Can I suggest that you never wear a purple suit again?” Foggy said, looking at Matt’s lurid outfit, “er, particularly with a green shirt.”

Matt stood up straight and theatrically tilted his chin up. “Nope.”

Foggy gave a huff of amusement. “There’s no doubting you’re blind then,” Foggy muttered.  “I'm probably going to regret this, but-” Foggy stuck out his hand “- to Nelson & Murdock.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I channelled a bit of post-Shadowland manic Matt in this last chapter (for those familiar with the comics). One of these days I'll be brave enough to write a truly dark!matt story, but I'm not quite ready yet. I'm too fond of the character. 
> 
> Anyhoo, thanks for reading. I get really excited about comments, so please consider typing something into that intimidating white box below.


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